Fifty Shades of Grey Hair
by Fifty Shades of Parody
Summary: I wish I could take credit, but these stories are based on classic naughty jokes.
1. Second Honeymoon

Christian Grey's mother said it would never last, but we proved her wrong. Christian and I are planning to go on a second honeymoon to celebrate our _fiftieth_ wedding anniversary.

"Let's go to the same place we did on our first honeymoon," I excitedly (well, as excitedly as an old lady can be) recommend to my husband.

"Of course, Ana" Christian replies, waking up from his nap.

"And we'll do all the things we did on our first honeymoon?" I ask, hopefully.

"Why not?" he answers, not taking his eyes off the weather lady on the TV.

"And we'll have sex just like we did the first time?" I tease, suggestively.

"Sure," Christian tells me, "only _this_ time _I'll _be the one crying, 'It's too big! It's too big!'"


	2. The Ron Jeremy Deluxe

I enter the sex shop unstable on my feet and shaking.

"Hello, Mrs. Grey," the staff greets me.

"Please," I tell them, "call me Ana."

The sad truth about getting old is that you go from having sex _every_ day of the week when you're young, to having sex _almost_ every day of the week when you're old.

You _almost_ have it on Monday...

You _almost_ have it on Tuesday...

You _almos_t have it on Wednesday...

Etc...

There's an old saying that goes, "I may not be as good as I once was, but I'm as good once as I ever was." So, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying Christian is lacking as a lover due to his age. He's as good as the next guy. As long as the next guy is deceased.

I walk up to the clerk. He's the hunky equivalent to a nice tall glass of Metamucil.

"Yooooungg mannnnn," I ask the clerk, "doooo you seellllll vibbbbrrratorrrss?"

"Why, yes, ma'am," he answers, obviously checking me out.

"Thhhe Ronnnn Jerrremmmy Delllluuuxe Modddellll?"

"Yes, ma'am," he nods his head, impressed at my superior choice of sex toy.

"Thhhe sssssixxxxxxteeeennnnn innnncherrrr?"

"Yes, ma'am," he tells me, and takes a quick peek down my blouse. Unfortunately, to see my breasts at _my_ age he'd have to look up my skirt.

"Thhhhatttt takkkessss eeeeeiggghhhtttt DDDDDD Ceeeelllll batttttteriessss?"

"Yes, ma'am," he says, obviously flirting with me.

"Theeennnn cannnn youuuu plllllease telllll mmmmeeee hhhhowwww toooooo turrrnnnn thhhe dddammmnn thinnngggg offff?"


	3. The TV Evangelist

Getting old is no fun, kids.

Why, just the other night Christian and I were watching TV. As usual, there's five hundred channels and nothing to watch, so we settled on a televised religious service. Sooner or later, everybody needs religion in their life, but one thing I've never understood is why when we talk to God, we're said to be praying, but if God talks to us, we're said to be crazy.

As we watched, the evangelist called out to everyone in his television-watching audience in need of healing to place one hand on their television set and their other hand on the body part they wanted to be healed.

_Holy crap!_ I thought to myself. _This sounds too good to be true, so, of course, it _must_ be._

I got up and slowly made my way over to the television set. I placed one of my hands on the set and the other on my shoulder. I've got arthritis, you see, and my shoulder has been hurting me something fierce. For some reason, this makes me think about my dear husband. He's a pain, too.

Poor Christian.

You know, in his time he was quite the Don Juan. In fact, once, before we were married, he visited The Virgin Islands, and when he left, they had to legally change their name to just The Islands. But those days have come and gone. Which, coincidentally, is what I used to call his lovemaking style.

"Hang on, Ana," I heard him say, and then I heard some grunting and groaning behind me. I turned around as best I could and saw that he was also getting up and hobbling over to the television set. I guess he had something he wanted healed, too. He placed one shaky hand on the TV and the other on his crotch. And then he looked at me with that lascivious smile I hadn't seen since Sarah Palin was president.

I smiled sweetly back at him.

"Put your hearing aid on, honey," I told him. "The evangelist says he's going to heal the sick, not raise the dead."


	4. Hot Soup

For our special 60th anniversary I decided to cook Christian and myself a wonderfully romantic dinner, with oysters and rhino horn and other exotic foods that are sure to give Christian's little soldier the energy for one last salute.

"That sounds wonderful, Ana," Christian told me. "In fact, why don't we eat it the way we ate our first dinner as a married couple: _au natural_."

"Oh, Christian..."

"Mr. Grey."

"...Mr. Grey, you're such a scamp. What's '_au natural_'?"

"Naked," he said, and gave me a sexy wink. As it turned out, he was just falling asleep.

As I think about that day, I get a familiar tingle up my wrinkly old, um, whatever that thing is called where he used to do the hokey-pokey laying down. Yeah, baby, that's what it's all about. I look at my arms. Ooh, I even have goose-bumps.

No, it's just a rash.

I walk out of the kitchen with our first course. A hot and spicy soup.

I'm naked.

He's naked.

_What the hell were we thinking?_

As I put the soup in front of him, I'm coy and flirtatious.

"Oh, my love," I tease, "like this soup, I'm so hot for you."

I sit, and we both pick up our spoons.

"That's nice, dear," Christian says, slurping his soup to cool it down.

"My lips are hot. My chitty-chitty-bang-bang is hot. Even my breasts are hot."

He looks up, gives me a naughty look, and says, "That's because they're sitting in your soup, dear."


	5. Bragging Rights

When you grow old as a married couple, it's funny the things you find yourself arguing over. What to do. Where to go. Who you are.

Why, just the other day, Christian was bragging about how regular he was. In the bathroom, I mean. You know... number two.

"I find it amazing, dear Ana," he told me, "that as old as I am, my constitution is as regular as when I was a young man. Every day I have my daily bowel movements at exactly 6:55 in the morning."

_Well_... I couldn't let him one-up me.

"Me, too," I told him. "Every day, at exactly 8 in the morning, I have a bowel movement as well."

"Yes," Christian agreed, a bit distastefully, "but you don't get out of bed until 10."


	6. Remember When

Christian and I were at a wedding and we came back home in a pretty romantic mood. At least I was. Christian's at the age where it's hard to tell the difference between his looks of passion from his looks of constipation.

We take the elevator up to the second floor. I remember when being in an elevator with Christian would lead to many a passionate act of hot degenerate sex. The other people in the elevator thought so, too. At least that's what the police told them to say after Christian handed over a fat bribe.

I look at my still handsome husband as we walk into our bedroom, a feeling of nostalgia overwhelming me, and say, "Remember when you used to kiss me every chance you had?"

This must touch him, because he leans over and gives me a peck on my cheek. He then goes into the bathroom, where he stays for a very long time. Just when I start to worry he may have passed on to S&M heaven, I hear the toilet flush. He fiddles around at the sink for a bit before he comes back and joins me at the foot of our bed, where we sit and take off our shoes.

"And do you remember how you would hold my hand at every opportunity?" I tell him.

He smiles and gently places a wrinkled old hand on mine. I lay my head to the side and rest it on his shoulder. It's comfortable, in a boney kind of way.

"What I miss the most is how you used to nibble on my neck," I tell him, a hint of longing in my voice. "It would send chills down my spine."

Without a word, Christian gets up, his knees cracking like the rest of his joints. He begins to walk away. From _me!_ Oh, my goonies! Was it something I said? Was it something I did?

"Christian," I blurt out, worried, "where are you going?"

Christian stops and turns around.

"Back to the bathroom to get my teeth," he says.


End file.
